Sunnydale? You're Welcome To It!
by Ligeia
Summary: Postcards from the Edge of the Hellmouth Pt 1. Giles receives his first Watcher assignment and decides to take a former colleague along but is she everything she seems? Or something else entirely? Takes place before Buffy arrives in Sunnydale.


Disclaimer: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, David Greenwalt Productions, 20th Century Fox and whoever else may have a hold upon them. I do not mean to infringe upon any copyrights. Julia Devereaux is my creation.  
  
Postcards From the Edge of the Hellmouth Part One: Sunnydale? You're Welcome To It!  
  
Part One: Relics.  
  
The small pottery tablet felt rough and grainy under her fingertips as she traced the ancient Sumerian characters imprinted in the red clay. Julia Devereaux removed the magnifying glasses she'd been peering through, brushing her long black hair back with one well-manicured hand. She marvelled at the tiny script pressed into the palm-sized tablet she held in her other hand. Nine similar tablets nestled in cotton-wool lined archive boxes beside her on the desk top, some showing signs of having been broken or chipped. It never ceased to excite her, handling an artefact crafted thousands of years ago, trying to fathom the mind and culture that produced it.  
  
She had spent most of the day hunched over a work table in the Archaeology Department of the British Museum comparing the script on each of the clay tablets to a written translation made several decades ago. Dr Douglas Reed, Chief of Archaeology at the museum, sat at a table nearby, his close- cropped greying head bent low as he catalogued potsherds and blue-green faience beads from a new dig at Tel El Amarna.  
  
Dr Reed had been the professor of ancient history when Julia had studied at Oxford but had returned to his beloved field work many years ago, not finding academic life wholly to his liking. While he had endless patience sifting through scraps from a Roman refuse heap and worked with infinite delicacy in restoring ancient artefacts, he had been gruff and intolerant with his students. Not that this had ever bothered Julia. She had been in awe of his vast knowledge of ancient languages while he had developed a fondness for the one student who never seemed fazed by his abrasiveness. Even so, Julia was surprised and delighted to receive an invitation from him to view the set of ten clay tablets known as the 'Plague Prayers', which, in light of some more recent discoveries, had been taken out of storage recently for a re-examination of the original translation.  
  
The ten small blocks each detailed a prayer, thought to have been recited by Moses, exhorting God's intervention in the release of the Israelites from servitude under Rameses the Great by visiting the ten plagues upon Egypt. Turning her deep green eyes towards Dr Russell, Julia spoke. 'The syntax in the translation is wrong. Here, at the start of each of the prayers.'  
  
Dr Reed put down the jeweller's eye-piece he'd been using to scan broken pottery scraps for designs or writing that might assist in identifying the Egyptian court official from whose badly damaged tomb the jar had been recovered. He walked over to the cluttered desk where Julia sat holding the tablet under the bright glare of a desk lamp, the original translation attached to a document holder beside her. He leaned over her shoulder to view the tablet, rubbing his deeply lined pale blue eyes with slightly dusty hands.  
  
'Yes,' agreed Russell. 'The first lines of the original translation say "We call on you by name, spirit of the God Yahweh, to smite our enemy". My own studies would indicate a closer approximation of the text should read, "We call on you, spirits, in the name of the God Yahweh, to smite our enemy". The pronoun "you" in this case signifying the plural rather than singular form of address.'  
  
Julia sat back in the office chair, looking at Dr Russell steadily. 'So it's not so much a prayer as an invocation? That's odd isn't it, Doug,' she frowned slightly, 'considering the Israelites didn't approve of commerce with lesser spirits? How did they come to have the Sumerian tablets in the first place? And what prompted you to review the translation now?'  
  
He stepped over to a small cabinet in the far corner of the office. Opening a drawer, he removed another, slightly larger tablet, apparently made by the same artisan.  
  
'This was recently discovered not far from the site where the first ten tablets were found,' he said, handing the new tablet to Julia to examine. 'It contains a "summoning" spell to call the demons and bind them to the adept's will. We know that some of the nomadic Israelites tribes had passed through Sumer and Canaan before moving on to Egypt. The tablets may have been carried by generations of one of the High Priest's families. Israelites weren't always monotheistic, you know, so it's not all that startling to find this sort of artefact. No doubt they considered the spells too potent to use. Until they were desperate, that is. As for the re- translation, it was obvious the new tablet was from the same source so a re- examination of the others was in order.'  
  
'This new translation's going to upset the theologians isn't it?'  
  
The old archaeologist looked at her sharply. 'It could cause a religious crisis by striking at the fundamental beliefs of both Christianity and Judaism if it were known that Moses called for help, not directly from God Himself, but from demons called forth in His Name to do Man's bidding. That concept strikes at the very heart of two of the world's most influential religions. This information could prove to be the powder-keg that sets off another cycle of Holy Wars.'  
  
Julia thought this possibility rather remote, adding wryly 'Or possibly only prove of minor interest to a few cloistered academics?'  
  
Dr Russell began to bluster. 'It's no joking matter, Julia. Because of the implications this new translation will probably never see the light of day.' He continued quietly. 'The tablets will be removed to a storage area soon and the new findings won't be published.'  
  
From past experience Julia knew this was a distinct possibility. It must rankle the old man to have his work go unrecognised, she thought. No wonder he's so snappish!  
  
Julia rose to leave, brushing a little red dust from the cuff of her white silk shirt, then took her coat from the rack near the door. She turned to shake hands with her old mentor, taking his desert-brown hand in hers. 'Thank you again, Doug, for allowing me access to this incredible find. I hope to see a copy of the full translation once it's completed,' adding wearily 'before it's once again lost to the world.'  
  
She felt a familiar sense of melancholy when faced with the paradox caused by discoveries such as these - wonder and awe at the knowledge and courage of those ancient adepts who dared to wield vast powers which were only barely understood today and then only by a very few who closely guarded the secrets against the awful prospect of such power falling into the hands of the greedy and unscrupulous. Still, there were organisations in the modern world that worked behind the scenes to ensure this didn't happen. Until recently, she'd been a member of one of them.  
  
*****  
  
Julia walked quickly down the corridor leading from the staff workrooms and took the West stairs down to the public galleries. She walked quickly past the Egyptian and Ancient Near East exhibition spaces and the Reading Room to the front counter where she handed in her visitor's pass, then out the doors to the main entrance and through the huge ionic columns, putting on her dark sunglasses as she ran lightly down the wide steps and out into the asphalt courtyard. The Museum's entrance way was crowded with visitors. The day was sunny and warm, great weather for locals and tourists alike who were out in droves. Julia stepped quickly through the crowd, heading for the Underground to take her home to her flat in Holland Park.  
  
'Julia, wait!' A voice called to her from the mass of people around her. She stopped short, looking around for the person who had hailed her. Suddenly, a flushed but familiar face appeared from the throng.  
  
'Rupert Giles! I don't believe it!' She smiled broadly, holding her arms out to him as he trotted towards her, holding his glasses up with one hand. The kissed warmly but chastely, as old friends do, her hand lingering momentarily on his upper arm as they stepped apart. 'How long has it been?'  
  
'Oh, about two years I should think,' he trailed off, looking a little uncomfortable. 'I'm sorry it's been so long since we've last spoken', he continued. 'I really shouldn't have let the time get away.'  
  
'It's all right Rupert. The situation has been difficult for us both, but I'm really pleased to see you. You're looking well. Very, ah, "bookish"!' She beamed him another bright smile and he looked relieved. They locked arms and continued walking, more sedately this time, across the courtyard. 'What brings you here today? More research? Something new and exciting perhaps?' She paused, inclining her head a little to look up at him. 'Maybe I should just let you get a word or two in?'  
  
Giles avoided a direct responding to her chatty inquiry by suggesting a cup of tea at the Museum's Court Cafe. Taking a seat, Julia draped her coat over the back of the chair and set her small Fendi handbag on the table top. The waiter came forward to take their orders. 'Still English Breakfast with a slice of lemon for you, Rupert?' He nodded assent while fumbling with his own coat. 'And I'll have a pot of orange pekoe, please.' The waiter thanked her and moved off to fill the order. Julia looked across the small table at Giles, suspecting his visit to the museum was for the same reason as her own. He'd finished fiddling about and finally took his seat. 'So, Rupert, what are you doing here today? Paying a visit to Dr Reed, too?'  
  
Giles paused, then answered. 'I understand Dr Reed has almost completed the new translations?'  
  
'Yes,' replied Julia. 'I assume the Watcher's Council will take possession of the tablets once that's done.'  
  
'I expect so. Most of the traditional plagues really aren't that much of a threat today,' he paused while the waiter set the tea pots, milk, sugar and lemon slices in front of them, then continued. 'After all, with modern medicines and pesticides, a plague of flies or boils is hardly likely to bring a country to its knees. Compared to twentieth century bio-terrorism or the atom bomb, plagues just aren't that big a deal, so to speak. However, the prayer for summoning the "Death of the Firstborn" is far too powerful and destructive to allow any potential terrorist access to the real spell.'  
  
'So the Antiquities Committee of the Council of Watchers will remove the items to the archive - the high security facility under the Vatican I assume?'  
  
'Yes. The original tablets will be replaced by copies with a few minor alterations to the text that will render the spells ineffective. With Dr Reed's authentication it may be decades or even generations before anyone else feels the need to examine the tablets again.'  
  
Julia considered this. 'I guess it's all for the best but it offends my scientific side to have counterfeit artefacts in the museum's collection.' She paused, and laughed. 'On the other hand, I remember the chaos we managed to cause all those years ago at Oxford when we experimented with the spells from that rubbing of the Assyrian stele that one of the students brought back from his trip to southern Turkey. We summoned hundreds of those awful ten-legged spider things and had to run around stomping on them because the insect spray wouldn't kill them! What a mess! They turned up all over campus for weeks later! Thank goodness they couldn't breed in this dimension. The Dean was furious enough as it was!'  
  
Giles smiled a little at the memory of the two of them hopping about his lounge room while the creatures, looking like giant 'daddy long-legs' bolted for the cracks in the windows and under the door. 'We were pretty naive in those days,' he said, adding sombrely 'I guess we've both had a few hard lessons since then.' Changing the subject, he asked 'What are you doing with yourself these days? I'd heard you were working for some research group, "Psychics Anonymous", isn't it?' Giles couldn't keep a hint of distain from his voice; he considered these 'amateur' occult societies little better than unscientific enthusiasts, on a par with bird-watchers or train spotters.  
  
'I'm sure you know quite well that I'm doing investigations for the Centre for Metaphysical Research', Julia replied. 'It's a privately funded group and quite legitimate.'  
  
'Still,' continued Giles 'I wish you hadn't decided to throw over your career with the Council of Watchers over a disagreement.'  
  
'You make it sound like a whim. It was hardly as trivial as that, Rupert.' Julia looked down at the tiny vase of yellow rosebuds on their table, not wanting to meet his gaze. Looking up again, she continued 'Besides, I thought you looked on Council affiliation as a vocation, not merely a career.'  
  
'To some of us it is,' Giles said, his blue eyes steadily regarding his former colleague, friend and occasional lover. 'I never expected you to feel the same way I do, but are you really happy "Ghost-busting"?'  
  
'There's more to it than that, Rupert,' she began, but Giles cut in.  
  
'Oh yes, I'd forgotten. You also organise crack-pot conventions and publish the newsletter.'  
  
'Get stuffed, Giles,' Julia answered gaily, but Giles's comments really stung. She knew her talents were wasted with the CMR but she refused to rise to the bait. She looked at him over her tea cup, sat back in her chair and said, 'You know, Rupert, you never really answered me when I asked you why you were here today. You aren't here to see Dr Reed at all, are you? Are you still doing research for the Watcher's Council?'  
  
'Well,' Giles began, 'actually, I'm just about to go on active assignment. Overseas. It should prove, as you said earlier, quite exciting.' He smiled thinly.  
  
'I see.' Julia was suddenly suspicious. 'And the reason you're here at the museum today?'  
  
Giles paused, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose - a ploy to avoid looking his companion in the eye. Julia recognised the gesture of old; Giles was about to make a statement and wasn't sure how it would be received.  
  
'Actually, meeting you here today wasn't entirely, ah, serendipitous. I knew you had an appointment with Dr Reed. In fact, I asked him to arrange it.' He paused again. 'I needed to speak with you.'  
  
'Why didn't you just call me at home?' Julia responded. 'I'm sure the Council knows where I am. They keep tabs on all their ex-operatives don't they?'  
  
'I wasn't sure you'd agree to see me.'  
  
'This is Council business then?' She glared coldly at Rupert.  
  
'Yes.'  
  
Julia rose quickly, fishing a five pound note out of her bag, she tossed it onto the table and grabbed up her coat. 'It was nice seeing you again, Rupert. Thanks for the tea.' She stormed out of the cafe and off into the crowd as Giles blustered at the table, crumpling two more pound notes onto the table and almost knocking over his chair as he tore his own coat from the backrest. He hurried off across the courtyard towards Julia's fast- disappearing figure in time to see her turning right into Great Russell Street.  
  
He finally managed to catch up with her at the kerb of Bloomsbury Street, part of a knot of people waiting to cross at the traffic lights. Giles was puffing as he pulled up beside her. The lights changed and she quickly stepped forward with the surge of other pedestrians without acknowledging him. Giles hurried after her again, starting to get angry now. He caught up with her in the middle of two lanes of busy traffic. Catching her by the shirt sleeve he said sharply 'Can't you put aside your pride long enough to listen to what I have to say?'  
  
Julia stopped dead in the middle of the road, the rest of the crowd flowing past. Giles was caught by surprise and bumped into her. 'My pride?' she fumed as she turned to face him. 'How dare you say that to me, Giles!' The traffic started up again but she stood her ground. Giles looked around uncomfortably as cars, black taxi cabs and a double-decker bus hummed past, some tooting angrily. He grabbed her arm, harder this time, dragging her the rest of the way across the road and onto the footpath.  
  
She turned towards him again, angrily tearing her arm from his grip. 'Don't you know what I've been through in the last few years? After what happened in Venice, I swore I'd have nothing more to do with the Council.'  
  
Momentarily taken aback Giles replied, 'I know something about what happened, of course. But you can't give up doing what you love because of that!'  
  
'The Council killed someone I cared about!' she said angrily. 'Surely you don't expect me just to forget that!' She was shaking, starting to feel ill. All the horror of that moment in the hallway of the Doge's Palace in Venice came flooding back.  
  
Giles was at a loss for what to say. He had thought at the time that there was a lot more to the incident than the Council's agent, Kyle MacHeath, had reported but Julia had resigned and never submitted a final report of her own. He said quietly, 'He was a vampire. The Council's purpose is to kill vampires.' Even Giles didn't seem convinced by this argument.  
  
'Lorenzo was my friend!' Passers-by were staring at them now. She continued a little more quietly. 'He never hurt anyone. His death was a assassination ordered by a Venetian politician who wanted to hide his own involvement with the local vampire sect. That's why they sent in a Council operative instead of a Slayer. Slayers aren't cold-blooded killers, which is more than I can say for the Council member who organised the murder.'  
  
Giles was dismayed by this piece of information. 'I'll admit I wasn't aware of everything that happened in Venice,' he said. 'I knew something went very wrong, obviously. After all, it was the talk of the Watchers' Committee for weeks; how you broke MacHeath's nose and resigned from the Council. I'd hoped for months afterwards that you'd contact me, maybe talk over what happened, but you'd disappeared.'  
  
'I went to Paris to see my parents. But I've been back in London for over a year and a half, Rupert, and you haven't bothered to call me.'  
  
Giles looked crest-fallen. 'I don't really have an excuse for that, Julia. I . well, I suppose I thought you might not want any contact with the Watchers for a while.'  
  
Julia smiled again at last. 'And I guess I couldn't face you either, Giles,' she said gently. Although, now she wished she had. It would have helped to have someone I could trust to talk it over with at the time, she thought. Might have saved me some heartache. Although she had sought emotional refuge with her family, she could hardly begin to explain to them what her real work entailed.  
  
The street was becoming increasingly congested as people vacated the surrounding buildings at the end of the working day. 'Let's go some place where we can talk privately,' Giles suggested. 'My flat is just a few blocks from here.' They walked together in silence, each concerned with their own thoughts. Julia's centred on her determination not to re-join the Watchers, while Giles considered how his new insight on the 'Venice Incident', as he thought of it, would affect his ability to convince her otherwise.  
  
*****  
  
Giles's flat was situated above a small, old-fashioned-looking book store in New Oxford Street called 'The Hierophant' which specialised in occult and rare volumes. How surprising, thought Julia wryly. Entry was through a door beside the store at street level then up two flights of stairs to Giles's landing. Taking out his keys, he opened the door and gestured for Julia to precede him into the surprisingly spacious interior.  
  
'Have a seat,' Giles said, indicating a much-used sofa near the fireplace. Julia tossed her coat over the back and her handbag onto one of the sagging seats. Giles settled in a worn leather wing chair opposite then quickly jumped up again. 'May I offer you another drink?'  
  
'Do you have anything stronger than tea,' asked Julia, having an idea she'd need it. She kicked off her shoes and curled her long legs up under her.  
  
'I have Dimples' said Giles ingenuously.  
  
'So I seem to recall,' she replied, making Giles blush, adding with a smile 'Thanks, Rupert, that'll be fine.'  
  
Giles unscrewed the bottle cap, pouring a generous measure of the amber liquid into each of two cut-glass tumblers. He handed one to Julia who took it and started to sip the pale whisky, savouring the mellow, peaty flavoured Scotch. She had calmed down quite considerably on the walk to the flat. She knew Giles wasn't responsible for what had happened previously and that he was trying to be sympathetic. Even so, she had real concerns about re-establishing any kind of contact with the Watchers Council.  
  
Giles took his seat once more in the cracked leather chair. 'Are your parents still in Paris? I saw an article about your father in the medical section of "Science Review" a few months ago.'  
  
The Devereaux's were often in the news, either because of her father's multinational drug company which was currently being lauded in the press for its efforts to provide cheaper medicines to third-world countries or for her mother's involvement on her many charity committees. Even her brother, Jonathan, was becoming well known as a successful architect both in England and overseas.  
  
While they were a devoted and loving family, Julia's passion for the unknown had never been understood by her wealthy parents. They had tolerated her interest in the occult throughout her teenage years, putting it down to an adolescent phase, but could not come to terms with the fact that it had turned into a full time occupation. Of course Julia could not discuss with them the real scope and activities of the Council of Watchers when she had been an agent of that organisation. She was even less able to explain why she now spent her time setting up infra-red photographic equipment and electromagnetic field generators in draughty old houses or trudged around soggy wheat fields taking samples from the insides of crop circles. More and more she felt like the black sheep, alienated from family and old friends by an obsession she couldn't explain.  
  
'Yes. It looks like Dad might make Time's Man of the Year this year,' Julia said. James Devereaux's company, DevCo Medical, had committed to provide AIDS medications to several African countries at cost over the next decade. 'Mum's working with the Red Cross raising funds for humanitarian aid for the Romanian orphans and Jonathan's in Saudi Arabia working on a huge government contract.'  
  
'Do you see much of them these days?' Giles asked.  
  
Julia sighed. 'No, not really. It gets more and more difficult every time I visit. I hardly even bother to phone any more. I can't stand the sound of the concern in my mother's voice.'  
  
Giles looked down into the remains of his drink. 'What about your brother? You two were always close as I recall.'  
  
'Jonathan accepts what I do but doesn't really understand it. It's just too hard to explain. Sometimes when I try to talk to him about it his eyes start to glaze over and I know I've gone too far.' She smiled sadly. 'I feel like we live in two separate worlds.' Julia took another sip of the Dimples, concentrating on the warm feeling it created as it went down. 'It's not like your family, Rupert. I don't really have a support system.'  
  
Giles considered this. He came from generations of Watchers; his father and grandmother had both been actively involved with Slayers. Dealing with the occult was a daily part of family life. It was accepted, in fact expected, that at least some members of each generation would follow in the 'family business'. So far Giles had only been engaged in research, but this was about to change.  
  
'So,' Julia continued, 'this new assignment of yours, what's it all about?'  
  
'I've been offered an active assignment. In the United States. Of America,' he added unnecessarily. 'I'm going to be a Watcher.'  
  
Julia couldn't suppress a wider smile. Giles always started to speak in quick phrases when he was excited. This was his dream, to continue the family tradition as Watcher for a Vampire Slayer. She dreaded asking the question that next sprang to mind.  
  
'I'm pleased for you Giles, but what has this to do with me?'  
  
'I want you to accompany me - assist me with the assignment.' Giles looked at her expectantly.  
  
Julia considered this for a few moments, her emotions in turmoil but not showing through her calm exterior. All her reactions were distilled into her brief but puzzled response, 'Why?'  
  
'I know it's highly irregular for a Watcher to have an assistant,' Giles agreed, 'but this situation is not at all usual.' He paused to refresh his drink, offering Julia a refill which she declined, before continuing. 'A new Slayer has been discovered in America and I've been assigned to her training.'  
  
'What do you mean "discovered"?' interrupted Julia. 'Who is she, Giles? Which Family is she from?'  
  
'She's not from any of the known bloodlines,' answered Giles.  
  
Julia leaned forward, interested now. 'But how is that possible? Are you sure the Council isn't mistaken?' Julia knew that all Slayers originated from one of the Nine Families. Slayer mythology states that the First Slayer was created in prehistoric times to defend her people from a vicious vampire clan. She had nine daughters, each of whom founded a genetic line which continues to this day from which all of the Chosen Ones are born. Each of the Families, which now spread across six continents, were closely monitored by the Council of Watchers for potential future Vampire Slayers. Every female born to these lines was accounted for; no Slayer in recorded history had sprung from any other source. Until now.  
  
'Her genealogy is one of the things I'd hoped you'd investigate.' Giles knew Julia loved a challenge. He hoped this one might pique her curiosity.  
  
'But why this girl, Giles?' Julia asked. 'Why not one of the girls currently being prepared? Last I heard the girl, Kendra, from the Seventh Family was favoured as the next Slayer. What makes this American girl so special? Has she received any preparation or training?'  
  
Giles paused a moment before replying. 'She was a cheerleader,' he offered hopefully.  
  
'Good grief, Rupert!' Julia exclaimed. 'You can't be serious! An unqualified girl with no training? Who is she? And how on earth did the Watchers Council find her in the first place?'  
  
'Her name is Summers.' Giles rose from his seat to retrieve a bulging manila folder tied with string which he cut with a pair of scissors from the desk drawer in which the folder had been stored. The folder bore the legend 'B. Summers' in thick black marker. The contents spilled out onto the coffee table between them. Giles shuffled through various official and unofficial records and reports, typed and hand-written, selecting a single sheet headed 'Council of Watchers Field Report - Confidential: Access by Authorised Personnel Only'.  
  
'Here it is - "Buffy Summers". As to how she was discovered, the Council of Watchers had a 'tip' from one of the staff psychics that there was an unknown with slayer potential somewhere in the U.S.A. There was an incident in her home town culminating in a vampire attack at a high school dance during which she dispatched several vampires including an ancient Master vampire named Lothos.'  
  
'Why wasn't a Watcher assigned immediately?' Julia inquired.  
  
'Someone was assigned; it was Merrick,' Giles hesitated. 'He'd been searching for this girl on and off for years.'  
  
'So why isn't Merrick continuing her training? I know he's getting on in years,' she added, 'but he's very competent.'  
  
'Julia,' Giles said quietly, 'Merrick's dead. He was killed by one of the vampires.'  
  
Julia didn't speak, couldn't speak; she was stunned by the news. Anton Merrick was the Council member who had recruited her as an agent straight out of university and they had developed a close relationship that had continued right up to her resignation two years ago. He had been like a favourite uncle to her, always kind and supportive, and she was shocked to hear that he was gone. Giles reached for the bottle of Dimples and refilled both their glasses without asking if Julia wanted more. She didn't decline, swirling the alcohol as she warmed the glass in both hands.  
  
Giles continued, 'Miss Summers is being transferred from her current school in Hemery, where, incidentally, she managed to burn down the gymnasium during a confrontation with the vampires, to a new school where I intend to take over her instruction.'  
  
'So, you're off to America to Watch over a Slayer who has no background you know of, no physical training other than cheerleading for gosh sakes, probably no understanding at all of what it means to be a Slayer,' she looked at Giles who nodded in confirmation, 'and has so far partially burned down a school and allowed a vampire to kill her Watcher?'  
  
'Well, you know me; I love a challenge.' Giles offered a lame smile. 'Also, Merrick felt this girl displays qualities that cannot be instilled by instruction alone; instinct, the ability to think for herself, courage . '  
  
'And which of these sterling qualities got Merrick killed, Giles?' Julia interrupted angrily.  
  
Giles understood her resentment. On top of her other issues with the Council, losing Merrick was quite a blow. He continued leafing through the contents of the file, selecting a handwritten report by the now-deceased Watcher. ' "Buffy Summers shows exceptional natural ability, a talent the like of which we haven't seen in generations." These are Merrick's own words,' Giles said gently.  
  
'I still don't see how I figure in all of this, Giles,' Julia said, struggling to come to terms with his unexpected offer. 'Between you and her mother, just what role would you expect me to play in her development?'  
  
'Mrs Summers has no idea that her daughter is a Slayer, or even what she is capable of.' Giles continued, 'Buffy has had no female role model to help prepare her for her destiny.'  
  
'Oh, this just gets better and better!' Julia couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Poor little girl, she thought, being thrown into Slaying with no preparation. The Council will take over your life now; or what's left of it. Slayers had a very short life expectancy; throughout history few had lived beyond their teens or twenties. 'How old is this girl now?' she asked.  
  
'About sixteen' Giles replied. He knew there was nothing to be gained by pushing Julia to accept the assignment. If he just let her think it over, Giles felt sure she wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity to renew her studies into the nature of vampires and vampirism. This had been a life- long preoccupation for Julia and the reason she had agreed to join the Council of Watchers in the first place.  
  
'But why me, Giles?' she insisted. 'Surely the Council has dozens of female operatives to choose from? And I've hardly endeared myself to them over the years. They must be aware I've never entirely agreed with their methods, even before the events in Venice.' Julia was still racked with guilt over the killing of the vampire sect-leader Lorenzo. She suspected that his death was partly attributable to her continued presence in the Venice casino which he and the other vampires occupied. The Council had repeatedly requested her return to England following another assignment which had turned out badly after she had become too intimately involved with a vampire she had been sent to Canada to observe. Instead, she had gone to Venice to investigate a long-established vampire colony she had heard of there. She believed Lorenzo's murder was, in part, an attempt to bring her back into the fold, a signal that her protracted absence would no longer be tolerated.  
  
'Well,' Giles began, 'you are an expert in the fields of both ancient and modern weaponry and have a black belt in two martial arts disciplines.'  
  
'Actually,' Julia broke in, 'it's three now. I took up kendo when I came back to England. I find the ceremonial aspect relaxing.'  
  
'Also', continued Giles, 'you have in-depth knowledge of the enemy we will be facing, along with an understanding of the Council's methods, albeit you don't necessarily agree with all of them, and of Slayer history and traditions.'  
  
'I might have knowledge of weapons and hand-to-hand combat training, Giles, but I have no real field experience. All my assignments with the Council were research only,' Julia responded.  
  
'I've reviewed some of your old field reports, Julia, specifically those from your assignments in Toronto and Venice.' Giles frowned slightly. 'Even I can see that a lot more must have occurred than what you chose to include in your reports. I have a feeling you've had a lot more, say we say "practical" experience, than what your personnel file might indicate.'  
  
Julia looked down into the ashes of the cold fireplace, vainly seeking some kind of response that would not lead her into revealing events she wasn't ready to discuss. Giles sensed her discomfort but continued, 'I feel you may have information which might prove vital to this assignment.'  
  
'I don't have any information, Rupert, just theories,' Julia said resignedly, 'and the Council is aware of all of them.' Unfortunately, they don't agree or don't want to consider most of it, Julia reflected. Will Giles be any different in the long run? 'I just don't know how much help I'd be to you.'  
  
'I don't expect you to be active out in the field,' Giles suggested. 'You would be helping me with the Slayer's physical training regimen, conducting research and generally assisting with Miss Summers' instruction in what is required of her as the Chosen One.' Giles paused, hoping for a positive reaction, but Julia still didn't seem convinced. 'Julia, I need an assistant I can trust, someone who can think independently. This girl Buffy hasn't had the benefit of being brought up in the ways of a Slayer. I need someone who can handle that, who is open-minded and adaptable, not some hide-bound Watchers Council bureaucrat.'  
  
Julia was surprised at Giles's vehemence. He'd never spoken of the Council like that before. 'It was my independent attitude that got me into trouble in the first place,' she reminded him. 'Up until today I believed I was persona non grata as far as the Council was concerned. Now they're willing to trust me with their precious Slayer!'  
  
'Well, actually, no.' Giles was frowning again. 'The Council is not especially keen on re-instating you.'  
  
Julia took a deep breath, lost for words. 'Oh,' was all she could manage. 'I see.' Well, that puts me in my place! she thought.  
  
'I told them I would accept the assignment only if I could choose my own assistant and approach the situation in my own fashion,' Giles continued. 'Technically, you will be deemed a consultant, "free-lance" if you will, reporting directly, and only, to me.'  
  
Julia had still not responded. Giles tried another tack. 'Think of the opportunity this offers you to study vampire activity again first-hand. And on the Council's payroll.'  
  
'I don't need the Council's money, Rupert, you know that,' she said at last.  
  
'I'm aware of that but once you are back on board so to speak, you'll have all the Council's vast resources at your disposal. You'll once again have access to the entire database, written and electronic,' Giles was certain this approach would have the desired effect. 'I know you must be eager to regain the library and computer privileges that you had before. Conducting your research alone must be extremely difficult and frustrating. The Committee have authorised both of us to have unrestricted access to all areas of the Council's records, both the written and physical archives.'  
  
This meant not only access to the Watchers own libraries which contained written records dating back to the beginning of recorded history, a comprehensive internet database and all physical sites where records and artefacts were stored, but also included the highest-security archives of the Vatican State and here in London at the Council's own world headquarters. Such a level of access was unprecedented and wholly unexpected.  
  
'You certainly know how to exploit my weaknesses don't you, Rupert?' Julia said wryly, considering what this might mean to her research, which, as Giles had so accurately pointed out, was almost at a standstill. 'How long is the assignment expected to be?'  
  
'Approximately two years; at least until the new Slayer reaches majority at eighteen years of age,' Giles replied.  
  
'And is there anything else I need to know, Rupert?' The 'unrestricted access' offer still puzzled Julia. There must be something else behind this, she thought. This sort of arrangement just isn't normal; something else must be up.  
  
'Well, there is one other factor,' Giles admitted. 'It appears that it's no co-incidence that a Slayer has appeared at this time and place. A new Hellmouth has been reported in California, the same state where Miss Summers currently resides.'  
  
Julia laughed. 'Saving the best for last, eh, Rupert!'  
  
Giles blinked owlishly behind his glasses then continued. 'There have been suspect incidents appearing in the local press over several decades describing the sort of occurrences which usually precede full-blown Hellmouth activity. Reports of incidents have escalated alarmingly in the past few years so the Watchers Council have decided to move the Slayer closer to the source. She'll be starting the new school term in a little town called .' Giles referred to another page of official correspondence, this one stapled to a sheaf of recent newspaper clippings. 'Ah, yes, here it is . Sunnydale.'  
  
Julia shook her head disbelievingly. 'The Hellmouth is in a place called Sunnydale?'  
  
'It seems to be the focal point of activity at this time,' said Giles dryly, 'although the actual site of the Hellmouth has yet to be determined.'  
  
'What sort of events have been reported?' Julia was sitting forward now, obviously interested.  
  
Giles consulted the news clippings attached to the report he had referred to earlier. 'Let's see,' he said, adjusting his glasses. 'Multiple unexplained metaphysical occurrences, deaths - especially of young people, sightings of "unnatural" creatures . the usual sort of things, really.'  
  
Well, that just sounds like a barrel of laughs, Julia thought.  
  
Giles sorted through the papers on the coffee table, selecting a thick file of clippings, many yellow with age, and handed it to Julia who leafed through the contents as they continued talking. 'You might like to look these over,' he said.  
  
'Considering the girl's mother is unaware that her daughter is a Slayer, I assume we'd be there under some sort of "cover",' Julia speculated, the reference to both of them not going unnoticed by Giles.  
  
'Precisely,' he responded. 'The Council has obtained employment for us at Sunnydale High School. I will be taking up the position of librarian with you as my part-time assistant library technician.'  
  
'Why part-time?' Julia asked.  
  
'To allow you flexible hours. You may need to travel at times in your capacity as researcher. I'll be in charge of your working hours, so any absences won't be queried.' Giles had obviously taken it for granted that she would agree to accompany him to California.  
  
Julia got up from the sofa, placing her empty whisky tumbler on the mahogany butler's table which held several cut crystal decanters and glasses. She selected a fresh glass, filling it with water from a plain glass lidded jug.  
  
'I don't really know much about the Hellmouth phenomenon, Rupert, except that it's very rare. Have any of the current Council operatives been involved with this sort of thing before?'  
  
'Not in any practical sense,' Giles answered. 'The last recorded incidence of a full-fledged Hellmouth was in England near Exmouth in South Devon around the 1850s. It lasted several years and produced the infamous "Devil's Footprints" incident. I'm sure you're familiar with the newspaper reports of the event.'  
  
'Yes. The Times wrote it up. As I recall, there was a trail of cloven hoof- prints which appeared in deep snow one night. They formed a single bipedal track traversing about a dozen towns and a frozen river. Whatever it was crossed over haystacks and the roofs of buildings, walked over the tops of narrow walls, in and out of enclosed gardens and across open fields and farms for many miles all in the one evening. It even approached doorways, then retreated. People were too terrified to go outside after sunset for weeks in case they met the devil in the dark.'  
  
'Precisely,' agreed Giles. 'It was the final episode in a nine-year wave of mysterious phenomena that included demonic sightings, sea-monsters off the Devon coast and a huge upsurge in poltergeist activity in the immediate area. There hadn't been another occurrence of that magnitude until now. The current Californian Hellmouth far surpasses any previously recorded activity and seems to have produced related phenomena well outside its geographical centre.'  
  
'How is that possible?' asked Julia.  
  
'The latest theory suggests there may be minor temporary portals created as offshoots of the main confluence,' Giles confirmed. 'You'd remember Dr Aubrey, I expect?' Julia nodded. 'He's a Board member of the Council's Scientific Committee now. Well, Dr Aubrey postulates that the structure of a hellmouth may be analogous to that of a volcano with the largest "vent" forming the major portal with several smaller portals pushing through the dimensional envelope up to several hundred miles away. These secondary incursions can last just hours or even minutes, others might exist in a relatively stable state for several years.'  
  
'Have any secondary portals for this Sunnydale hellmouth been confirmed so far?' Julia asked.  
  
'Yes,' replied Giles. 'There have been several individual occurrences as well as series of incidents over the past few decades which Dr Aubrey feels are the result of temporary portals, some as far afield as Mexico. The recent Chupacabra sightings are suspected of being caused by a temporary 'arm' of this Californian portal.'  
  
'And Sunnydale is experiencing a wide range of paranormal phenomena, not just vampire activity?' Julia suggested.  
  
Giles agreed. 'Yes. Vampires, as you know, are, in a way, a natural part of our world, having existed here since before the evolution of modern Man. The Hellmouth provides a means of access for creatures or metaphysical forces from outside our own dimension.'  
  
'So we could encounter just about anything?' Julia said thoughtfully. 'Monsters, demons and the like, as well as increased para-psychological activity amongst the local human population?'  
  
'Quite so.' Giles added, 'A larger extension of the Hellmouth is expected to break through in the area of Los Angeles sometime soon. The recent vampire activity there may be the precursor. Although, quite frankly, with the level of weird behaviour normally found in that city it has been difficult to determine what has been Hellmouth-related activity and what's, well, not. In any case, that is not our assignment.' Giles paused, attempting to gauge Julia's reaction to all of this information. 'I can assume it's to be our assignment, can't I?'  
  
'Rupert', she began. 'I really need some time to think this over.' Listening to Giles describe the Hellmouth, Julia experienced the peculiar blood-thumping, stomach-churning thrill she had become familiar with during her time as a Watchers Council operative. Whether this was from fear or excitement she never really knew, but it was something definitely missing from her job with the CMR.  
  
'To be perfectly blunt, I really don't know what you have to think over.' Giles had gotten serious again. 'The organisation you're currently working for has no real standing or credibility. You are reduced to spending your spare time on vampire research without benefit of organised backing or resources with no possibility of your work being recognised or used in any practical sense.'  
  
I don't need recognition, she thought, just answers. 'Just how closely has the Council been monitoring my private life?' Julia was infuriated and a little scared by Giles's obvious knowledge of her recent activities. She stood up and moved over to the window ledge, leaning forward momentarily to look out into street which was now shrouded in night. She turned back to look at Giles, leaning against the sill, crossing her arms and ankles, tying to suppress the urge to pace around the room.  
  
'Not the Council, Julia, just me. I've had someone looking into your current circumstances,' Giles admitted. Julia glared at him, very much unimpressed with this revelation. He added hastily, 'No reports have gone to the Watcher's Council. I used a private agency.'  
  
'So you've had me followed and you suspect I've kept things from the Watchers Council in the past, yet you say you trust me?' Julia considered just walking away from Giles's offer. The last thing I need is to have someone watching my every move, she thought. In a way it was fortunate that Giles used a private investigator. They would have overlooked certain peculiarities which a Watchers Council agent would have found suspicious. Maybe I should just tell him the truth. Get it over with.  
  
'It's because I had you investigated that I know I can trust you,' Giles said quietly. 'Julia, I've known you a long time. We've been through a lot together and we didn't always report everything that happened. If you withheld certain facts from your field reports I'm sure you had good reason to do so.' If he had expected Julia to offer an explanation, he was disappointed. 'Nothing you did ever compromised your assignments or put other operatives or the public in danger. If sometimes you took a path not sanctioned by the Council it was because you followed your heart instead of following procedure.' Julia felt her throat constrict. Her eyes were stinging and she could hear her heartbeat loudly in her ears. If Giles noticed her continuing discomfort, he didn't say anything. 'There is no procedure for the situation in Sunnydale. The strength of your convictions may be all you will have to guide you.'  
  
And where has following my heart ever got me? Julia wondered. All I've ever loved, I've lost. Maybe you trust me, Giles, but can I trust myself?  
  
Finally, she felt able to speak. 'Rupert, I need a few days to consider your proposal. When do you need an answer.'  
  
'I'm sorry, my dear, but there really isn't any time. I'm leaving for California tomorrow.' Giles looked at the antique station clock on the wall. It read 1.24 am; they had talked through the evening. 'Or later today I should say. I have to organise accommodation and set up the operating systems at the school.' He looked at Julia expectantly. 'I have to know now if you will be joining me.'  
  
You bastard! she thought. You think I'll be swept away by the prospect of investigating the Hellmouth and don't want to give me time to have second thoughts.  
  
Julia took a deep breath. 'Well, I guess in that case the answer has to be . yes.'  
  
*****  
  
Before she had left, Giles gave Julia the address of the boarding house in Sunnydale where they were booked in until they had each found themselves more permanent accommodation. He had suggested she join him as soon as possible and they had agreed on a date just over a week from now. He had also handed her a copy of the files on Buffy Summers and the Hellmouth activity along with a copy of Dr Aubrey's research papers.  
  
Giles pottered around his flat, packing a final few items into his suitcase, checking his passport, itinerary and other documents. He hated using deception to obtain Julia's co-operation but knew she would find a reason to reject the offer if she had time to reflect on her dislike of the Watchers Council's methodology. She obviously had fair reason for her resentment. Giles had been unaware of the circumstances surrounding her resignation and hoped he could encourage her to open up to him once they were settled in Sunnydale.  
  
She looks well, he thought, still trim and fighting-fit. A little pale perhaps. He packed a spare pair of prescription spectacles into his cabin bag. I guess that goes with the territory. Not much occult research was conducted outdoors in the sunshine after all.  
  
*****  
  
Part Two: Changes  
  
Julia was too restless to sleep. She rolled over onto one elbow see the luminous green display of the clock radio on her bedside table. Four-fifty a.m., she mumbled. Bloody hell! She flopped back on the pillow, brushing her hair away from her eyes and sighing. Might as well get up, she thought. Not like I haven't got enough to do. She threw a grey satin robe over matching pyjama bottoms and a white cotton tee-shirt and headed for the computer terminal in the study.  
  
Not bothering to turn on the lights she switched on the modem and waited for the screen to flicker to life, casting coloured shadows over her face in the dark as the system progressed through the automatic internet connection sequence. Julia brought up a list of files relating to the three current cases she was investigating for the Centre for Metaphysical Research.  
  
The first was a report on the outcome of a technical survey of a crop circle she had visited in Surrey a couple of months before. This one had appeared in a field of hay that was about to be baled so there was not much time in which to take measurements and samples. The farmer had rung late the night before to tell her that the field was being worked next day if the good weather held out. He promised to start as far from the formation as possible but could promise only a few hours before the field was cleared.  
  
Julia had enlisted the aid of a couple of members of a local Crop Circle Club to take the physical measurements while she took soil and plant samples, operated the electromagnetic field detector, Geiger counter and took ground-level photographs. The boy and girl whom she had contacted through an internet special interest chatroom, both just seventeen years old, turned out to be local students who took the day off to help. They were very enthusiastic and chatted incessantly about the latest far-out theories, everything from aliens using the designs as temporary directional markers to underground magnetic 'whirlwinds'. Julia tried to keep them working at opposite ends of the 'circle' from her. She greatly appreciated their assistance but wasn't in the mood to deal with all their questions. At least the ground was dry, not like the last time when she had waded through patches of freezing cold water in marsh-like conditions to get to a large flattened nest-like mound next to a small loch just over the Scottish border.  
  
The chemical analysis of the hay-field had come in yesterday while Julia had been at the British Museum. She took out the concertinaed computer print-outs and fed the information into a spreadsheet, noting that radiation levels in the soil samples were higher than those of the control samples taken elsewhere on the property, added comments and observations with a recommendation to revisit the site for genetic samples of the next season's crop and to take further soil samples. She emailed the lot off to her contact in the relevant division of the CMP.  
  
The second case Julia had outstanding was a report of poltergeist activity affecting a Somalian family recently settled in London from Arles in France. The family included the father who worked as a cabbie, the mother who was a nurse at the London Hospital at Mile End, twin boys six years of age who were born in France and a twelve year old daughter born in Somalia during the conflict who had travelled to France with her parents as refugees in 1989.  
  
The reported phenomena included the usual range of poltergeist disturbances, with crockery and ornaments broken or moved, household and personal items disappearing and reappearing, sometimes from locked drawers and cabinets, and, more distressingly, the girl and her little brothers being tumbled out of bed, having hair pulled and limbs bruised by pinches from an invisible assailant. Cameras positioned in the children's bedroom overnight had shown the children waking during the night with cries of pain. Fresh bruises were evident on their arms and legs next morning. As is usual with poltergeists there was none of the 'accepted' ghostly characteristics to the case such as entity sightings or electromagnetic fluctuations.  
  
During a follow-up visit to the family's home during the past week the parents had allowed Julia to speak with the young girl alone. The child was friendly and seemingly well adjusted, happily showing Julia her room that she shared with the boys, the walls on her side covered with posters of Kylie Minogue and the Backstreet Boys and pictures of Prince William ripped out of her mother's magazines. She was happy at school, with her level of academic achievement being in the top third in all of her classes. She was popular with the other children, had several close friends, was involved in sports, especially running and netball and she seemed to be genuinely fond of her two little brothers.  
  
On the down side both parents worked shifts so were away from home at different times during the night and day, often at the same time, leaving their daughter to care for her brothers before and after school and occasionally on weekends too. This meant the family rarely spent time with all five of them together. When Julia asked her about her memories of Somalia the little girl became distracted and withdrawn, not meeting Julia's eyes and fiddling with the ornaments on her bedside table. When pressed, she revealed quite vivid memories of a terrifying few weeks spent attempting to flee the war-torn country with her parents who, at one stage, were separated for several days amongst the steady stream of frightened refugees.  
  
Finally, after several years in Arles, the family had moved to England where the mother had taken up an offer of well-paid but demanding nursing at a busy London hospital. One aspect of her conversation with the child struck Julia as significant; the girl constantly referred to the fact of how lucky she was to have her family together in safety, to be attending a good school and to have the opportunity to have well-paid career ahead of her in later life. When asked to talk about her feelings on the family's 'ghost' the little girl said she thought an evil spirit had followed them from Africa and was angry that they had escaped when so many others had died.  
  
Julia updated the file with her suggestion that the case be referred to a child psychologist. The young girl obviously experienced severe guilt about being safe and secure after their escape from Somalia and felt the weight of responsibility of keeping up with studies and sports while caring for her little brothers and basically running the home when the parents were at work. She felt she had to keep up a happy exterior for the family's sake and had buried all her fears so as not to burden her parents who had been through such traumatic circumstances. Julia was sure the poltergeist occurrences would cease once the child accepted that it was OK to talk about her fears and felt more comfortable with her new circumstances.  
  
As for the poltergeist phenomena itself, Julia was not especially inclined to recommend further investigation as she felt this might cause further stress on the girl and the family. Psychic phenomena of this type were pretty much accepted even by mainstream investigators so Julia felt there was little to be gained by pursuing this case further.  
  
The last of her three current cases was both more complex and more disturbing. A nineteen-year-old single mother had complained of attacks on her and her eighteen-month-old baby boy by a malicious ghostly presence in their council flat. Julia had been reluctant to take on this case originally, as it had already had received some media attention in the suburban newspapers. One local TV station had sent an interviewer out to see if the story was worth doing a spot on the weekend news.  
  
Initially, the mother's de factor husband, a builder's labourer aged twenty- one and not the child's father, was suspected of causing the injuries to the child and mother. Both displayed scratches and bruising which apparently appeared overnight and was even reported to have appeared in the presence of media representatives while the mother and baby were in the same room with them. Unable to deal with the sudden notoriety and accusations, the boyfriend had moved out of the flat but the cuts and bruises continued to manifest.  
  
Julia was highly suspicious of this case right from her initial interview with the beset mother. She was an unremarkable young woman, mousy but neatly dressed, nervy and timid with a tiny, almost childlike voice and manner who fussed over the baby and her visitors almost to distraction. The flat contained no books but several glossy fashion magazines, a battered television set and a radio tuned permanently to whatever talkback show was on at the time. Religious knick-knacks, mostly cheap and nasty, were scattered about the rooms including the bathroom and toilet.  
  
Half-way through this first session the young woman's own mother turned up at the flat. During the visit she never once looked at her grandson but constantly found fault with her daughter's housekeeping, bustling noisily about the tiny flat tidying and dusting items that were already spotless. Oblique references to the 'sinful' product of premarital sex were common along with admonitions to prayer and atonement. This constant barrage kept up for the entire visit while the younger woman hardly spoke a word.  
  
Julia had paid a second visit and this time brought along an acquaintance, Sally Mitchell, whom she knew from their university days and who was now a social worker on London's south side. Julia introduced her only by first name, not mentioning her companion's profession and the young mum didn't inquire further. After the interview, Julia and Sally compared their impressions of the situation. Sally felt the young woman to be borderline intellectually subnormal but had probably never been diagnosed. She was obviously enjoying all the attention, especially from the media types and constantly repeated to Julia and Sally that she had been written up in the paper and would soon be on TV. The baby was obviously well cared for, clean and well-fed but often screamed when his mother picked him up which she did obsessively whenever the child started to crawl away from the rug on the floor where he was placed.  
  
Julia had initially suspected the mother of inflicting the injuries on the baby and herself as all of the thready scratches on the young woman were in places she could manage to reach with a pin; nothing on the middle of the back, for instance, or between the shoulders where she could not easily reach. Neighbours reported banging noises in the middle of the night, more frequently now that the boyfriend had gone and Julia suspected the bruising found on the young woman was self-inflicted. Both Julia and Sally agreed that this attention-seeking behaviour might indicate the psychological condition of Munchausen syndrome by proxy. Low self-esteem coupled with suddenly becoming the centre of attention of the local new media would be a powerful inducement for the isolated young woman to receive the kind of personal validation she was not getting from her own mother or boyfriend.  
  
Sally had immediately notified a local caseworker to take over the case, organising regular visits to get help for the mother and baby. Julia completed her report, including a statement from Sally and the new caseworker's contact details then e-mailing it and the Somalian family's report onto the Centre.  
  
Julia sat back in her office-style adjustable chair and sighed. I really don't think I'm going to miss this after all, she thought, pushing the leather-upholstered chair back from the mahogany desk. At least with the Hellmouth we'll know who the real enemy is.  
  
By now the sun was coming up. Julia decided to take a quick shower then jog down to Holland Park for her morning tai chi session which she regularly attended when at home in London. Some physical activity to calm the mind and steady the nerves, she hoped.  
  
*****  
  
A group of thirty or so people gathered at the north end of Holland Park each morning to participate in tai chi classes with martial arts master, Wu Lung. Following the lead of the old man, the participants moved and breathed in unison. With perfect concentration and precision they flowed through a series of graceful actions from the Old Form style - white crane spreads its wings, strumming the lute, wild horse shakes its mane, pushing the mountain, blue dragon out of water, grasping the bird's tail. With a final deep exhalation the group bowed and relaxed. As they stood for a few moments before disbanding, Master Wu recited the credo as he always did:  
  
It is stillness, potential with all life. Day and night, winter and summer. Enjoying this flow, you enter deeply into the rhythm of nature, Floating as flower petals on the wind, Then firm as an iron block. Facing challenge, your speed is as a plunging falcon. The attack is as a roaring tiger. Your move as water running rapids. When collected, chi is silent, as mountain filling the sky. Yet, the connection is gentle. Passing from extreme to extreme Your spirit rest in stillness.  
  
Bowing deeply a final time, the mixed class of university students, housewives, businessmen and retired folk began to chat with friends or head off to begin the day's work or studies. As usual, Julia stayed behind to do a further half-hour's full-contact martial arts workout one-on-one with the instructor, Master Wu, who was also skilled in the more militaristic forms of hand-to-hand combat. At almost seventy years of age, Wu was still a formidable sparring partner and Julia very much enjoyed matching speed and tactics with the old man.  
  
Afterwards, Julia walked over to her gym bag which she had placed on a park bench, took out a small white towel and started to wipe the sweat from her face and neck. Josephine Wu, Master Wu's granddaughter, came up beside her, patting Julia on the shoulder.  
  
'Have you had breakfast yet?' she asked. Josie had returned to London just over a year ago after completing Chinese language and history studies in Hong Kong. She and Julia had become friends after discovering these dual interests in common and often had coffee and pancakes together after the early-morning workout.  
  
'Yeah, I'm starving,' Julia replied. In fact, she hadn't eaten since the previous morning. She had been too engrossed in the Sumerian clay tablets at the British Museum to stop for lunch, then too unbalanced by her meeting with Giles to think about dinner. 'How about "Dante's"?' Julia suggested. Josie agreed so they headed off across the park towards Abbotsbury Road.  
  
*****  
  
After demolishing a plate of sausages, eggs, grilled tomato and hot buttered toast, Julia still managed room for an inch-thick banana pancake the size of a dinner plate with roasted walnuts and a drizzle of hot chocolate sauce.  
  
'Well, if that's breakfast, I've had it!' she grinned, patting her bare midriff. 'I wouldn't mind another coffee though,' she added.  
  
Josephine laughed, graciously pouring Julia another cup from the coffee pot on the table. 'I don't know where you fit it all in!' Both girls giggled.  
  
'I've got to keep up my strength,' Julia offered, adding a generous splash of milk and three heaped sugars.  
  
'While we're on the subject of food, how about coming over for dinner again sometime soon? Say this Friday, if you're free.' Josephine's family were among the few people Julia still socialised with in London. Her work tended to interfere with normal relationships in that she was often called away on short notice, not to mention it being something of a conversation-stopper when new acquaintances asked what she did for a living. It was all just too hard and she had long-since ceased to encourage new friendships.  
  
'I'd love to, Josie,' Julia said. 'Actually, I have some news to tell you. I've been offered a job in the United States which I've accepted and I'll be leaving on Sunday. I'd love to see you all before I go.'  
  
'Oh, how exciting!' Josie exclaimed. 'What kind of job is it?'  
  
'Basically the same as I do here,' Julia said. 'Just for a larger organisation. I'll be working with an old colleague who's offered me an opportunity to research some of the things I'm especially interested in.'  
  
'Occult stuff?' asked Josie.  
  
'Mostly,' Julia replied. 'It's probably only going to be for a fixed term of about two years. It was short notice; I only found out yesterday, but I can't really pass it up.' Especially as I'm making no progress here, she thought.  
  
They chatted through another cup of coffee each, agreeing to keep in touch while Julia was overseas and made a date for dinner at the Wu family home that Friday evening.  
  
*****  
  
Back at her flat, Julia showered again, dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt, then settled down to read through the files which Giles had given her the previous evening. The first of the three files contained a report of over two hundred pages on known or suspected historical hellmouth activity along with some theories on the science behind the phenomenon, some based on established physics, others purely speculation. Most of the case histories cited were well known to Julia from her own studies. One section of the report was surprising and somewhat disturbing.  
  
Dr Aubrey's research suggested that the sudden disappearance of the Mayan culture may have been due to a hellmouth appearing in the region of Tikal in the Yucatan peninsula around 800 A.D. In the hundred year period to 900 A.D. the Mayan civilization suffered a rapid decline from a peaceful society of intellectuals, artists and traders led by a class of hereditary priest-aristocrats to a blood-thirsty race preying on its neighbours to provide captives who were sacrificed, often hundreds at a time, not to the gods of a new, violent sect, as formerly believed, but to the demons of that ancient hellmouth.  
  
Cultural references from those decades abound with images not previously seen in Mayan art but common to regions experiencing hellmouth phenomena. The skull and cross-bones symbol, images of human-animal hybrids and other strange beings appeared suddenly on temples and public buildings throughout ceremonial and social centres from Copan to Chichen Itza. When captives could not be obtained, the Mayan people from the lowliest farmer to the Royal Family themselves practiced ritual bloodletting, pricking fingers and tongues to provide the blood demanded by the demons. The nobility began to bind the foreheads of their children and file their teeth to sharp points to more closely resemble the features of their demon masters.  
  
For almost fifty years before that time, all public construction had ceased save for the two huge temples at Tikal. The larger of these, the Temple of the Great Jaguar, had been added to, layer upon layer over the previous century, temples within temples, in an attempt to contain the gate to the hellmouth which had opened beneath it. Dr Aubrey's recent excavation of the site had finally located the entrance, a series of caverns deep beneath the edifice.  
  
While royalty and the general population alike propitiated the demon overlords with blood sacrifices which often included their own children, members of the priesthood worked in secret, achieving during this time of affliction the Mayan's greatest advances in mathematics, astronomy and medicine in an effort discover a way of closing the hellmouth. Massive libraries of their coded writings survive, still mostly indecipherable to this day. The frenzied building and rebuilding at Tikal along with the clandestine efforts of the priests was to no avail. By 900 A.D. all religious centres large and small and the major urban sites had been abandoned. The Mayan civilization collapsed in less than four generations. A few peasants continued to live without leadership in the abandoned ruins but soon even these sites were reclaimed by the jungle. Even now most of the sites of the Mayan heartland remain almost uninhabited.  
  
Not only did this hellmouth cause the downfall of a centuries-old civilisation but its effects resonated throughout younger societies emerging at the time. Dr Aubrey believed that the sadistic rituals of the neighbouring Aztec echoed the rites observed by the Maya in an attempt to avert a similar fate. He also believed that the Bermuda Triangle may be the final remnant of this slow-burning hellmouth.  
  
Hell, thought Julia, shaken by the descriptions of death and horror. Is this what we're up against?  
  
The next folder contained copies of the newspaper clippings which she had briefly leafed through at Giles's place, along with photocopies or microfiche copies of official police, fire and ambulance reports going back to the 1920s. These she put aside to read through later.  
  
Taking up the last folder Julia noticed a note paper-clipped to the inside front cover. It was from Giles. 'Sorry to have sprung this on you like I did. I promise you won't regret it. Love and gratitude, Rupert Giles.' The rest of the meagre contents included Merrick's field reports which covered a period of only a few weeks, a follow-up report from the 'clean-up' crew who had been sent in after the vampire attack at Miss Summers' former school and copies of personal papers such as Buffy's birth certificate and school records, her mother's birth certificate, marriage and divorce records. This would be a starting point for Julia's genealogical search into the girl's family history.  
  
The final item in the folder was a white A4 envelope, unsealed, which contained a few recent photographs of the Summers family. The most recent photo, an eight-by-ten glossy stamped with the logo of Hemery High, Los Angeles, showed a squad of eight cheerleaders in yellow uniforms posing in the school gymnasium. A red circle in felt-tipped pen had been drawn around the smiling face of a pretty blonde girl of about fifteen years of age, down on one knee in the middle row with pom-poms raised high.  
  
'Oh, dear,' said Julia quietly. 'She's so fragile-looking.' The girl was small, even compared to the other teenagers. Not that that was unusual in a Slayer. Size certainly wasn't an indication of strength, speed or courage for that matter. In the no-so-distant past young girls had become Slayers as young as twelve or thirteen years old, often out of necessity. There were very few prospective Slayers in the world at any given time and life expectancy was low once active slaying began.  
  
Julia spent most of the rest of the day deciding what clothes to pack, which personal items she needed and which books to take with her. In addition to the Watchers Council resources Giles had an extensive personal collection of antique books on metaphysical and religious subjects so Julia tried to recall which ones they had in common. Anything she wasn't sure of Julia packed anyway. Better to be doubly armed than found wanting, she thought, recalling an old saying of Merrick's. Julia's own antique collection included many beautifully crafted weapons, some of which might prove useful so she spent a couple of hours considering what to remove from the locked cases in the study and whether any minor repairs were needed.  
  
By the end of the afternoon Julia had packed two large suitcases with the personal things she wanted to take with her on the flight and filled two old-fashioned steamer trunks with books and heavier belongings. These latter items would be shipped by the Watchers Council. Around 6 p.m. a courier arrived with a parcel which bore the crest and seal of the Watchers Council. Inside she found tickets for her air travel, taxi vouchers, a credit card and Green Card allowing her to work in the United States along with her official orders of reinstatement and the usual bureaucratic forms from the Personnel Department for her to fill out. Even saving the world requires paperwork apparently! she thought contemptuously.  
  
Having spent the day packing Julia had missed lunch and by 7 p.m. was feeling too tired to cook. She phoned Verdi's Italian Restaurant and asked them to deliver a chicken parmegiana with garlic-roasted baby vegetable on the side. While she waited for the meal to arrive Julia sorted through the last of her private files and research notes, the ones she hadn't included in her official reports to the Watchers Council or had written up for her own records. She kept these as hard copies only, not trusting her electronic files to be tamper-proof. She made copies of everything to be lodged in her bank safe-deposit box the following day. The originals would go with her in her hand luggage on the plane. Last of all were her diaries.  
  
On the middle shelf of the floor to ceiling mahogany bookcase were seven red Moroccan leather-bound journals each about an inch thick which bore the legend 'Julia M Devereaux: Her Journal' in gold on the cover. These were part of a set of twelve volumes given to Julia by her grandmother after graduating from Oxford University many years ago. Julia ran her hand along the spines of the journals, several of which she had filled in the intervening years. All these records of my most intimate thoughts and feelings, she pondered, and they still don't hold the answers I need most. Hell, they don't even hold those answers I do have! The full truth, Julia knew, could not be recorded. Some secrets were written only in her heart and mind. Hopefully, she thought, it will stay that way.  
  
Julia took down the volume she was currently using. Heading a new page with the time and location (Julia had long been in the habit of omitting the date) she sat down at her desk and began writing.  
  
'Shakespeare said "There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy." How right he was!  
  
I can hardly credit anything stranger than being asked to re-join the Council of Watchers. I thought I'd heard the last of the Council for certain after Venice. I know Rupert suspects something but he's never asked me outright about what happened to me in Toronto, or Venice either for that matter. Perhaps he thinks it's better not to ask. If he doesn't know he won't feel obliged to report to the Council and he'd never approach them with mere suspicions. How long will I be able to conceal the truth when we're working together so closely? We knew each other well once, as lovers, friends, and colleagues. He's bound to notice the changes.  
  
Giles is right about one thing though; I have been hiding. I've been trudging around graveyards, following up mostly spurious leads of vampire activity, hanging out at clubs and cafes that are known or suspected vampire haunts for months and not added any real information to my store of knowledge on the vampire question. The Council's resources could offer me the opportunity to conduct more real research in weeks than I've done in the past two years since I told the Council to go to hell. But am I ready to take on the Hellmouth? My research, my activities with the Council and on my own have already cost me so much. Everything I've loved, I've lost along the way. Can I go through that again?  
  
You might trust me, Giles, but can I trust myself? The temptation is more than I can resist even though I know co-operating with the Council could prove to be a two-edged sword. I have the opportunity to make massive progress in my research, possibly even gain more of an insight into my own situation, but I'm afraid of what might happen if the Council discovers my secret. Just how much do they know about what happened in Toronto and Venice?  
  
Giles is my friend, or at least, he had been when we worked together all those years ago. We'd even lived together for a short while, but where would his loyalties lie if he knew the truth about me? Like me, Giles has things in his past which the Council doesn't know and of which they would not approve. Just how much did he read into those blank spaces in my reports? How much of the truth does he suspect? Has he voiced his concerns to the Council? If he suspects me of representing a danger to his Slayer or ever thought I might become a liability to the 'cause' just how would he react? He may have a slightly 'grey' past himself but it would prove no contest if he believed my presence or indeed, my beliefs, might cause problems on this assignment.  
  
From past experience I know Rupert Giles isn't the mild-mannered slightly bumbling academic his outward appearance suggests. I've seen him do things that would make a battle-hardened veteran quail. He wasn't nicknamed 'Ripper' for nothing. I know I can't rely on a decade old relationship to save me if he decides I'm a liability. Still, I'm desperate to find answers which Council-backed authorisation might give me access to. Can I keep my secret for two years? All my previous assignments have been with benign vampire groups where I've had contact at their invitation or at least with their co-operation. How different will it be in what amounts to a covert war situation? An undeclared war, perhaps, but all the more deadly for it.'  
  
*****  
  
Dinner at the Wu's that Friday night was, as always, a celebration. Josephine was there, along with her parents and paternal grandparents. The family's patriarch, Josie's great-grandfather, lived upstairs but was generally too frail to come down to dinner. Josie's older brother Peter was there with his English wife Michelle and their three little girls, the eldest just seven years of age, who raced around the oak-panelled rooms like colourful parrots, screeching with laughter as their grandfather pretended to be a roaring tiger.  
  
The meal itself was lavish as usual, with a variety of traditional Chinese and French-style dishes. Only French wine was served at the Wu table; an indulgence for Mrs Wu, Josephine's mother, who was an avid Francophile. The food was consumed amidst lively conversation and much laughter. Julia always felt both refreshed and exhausted after dinner with the Wu's!  
  
Josie and Julia helped the more senior women to clear the table while the men amused the children in the sitting room. Michelle, who was heavily pregnant again and hoping to produce the fifth generation of male Wu's was seated comfortably on the leather chesterfield sofa surrounded by Chinese silk cushions with a velvet ottoman for her to put her feet up on.  
  
Towards the end of the evening Josephine went upstairs to see if her great- grandfather wanted anything before settling himself into bed for the night. Coming downstairs again, she indicated for Julia to follow her back upstairs.  
  
'Great-grandfather wants to see you before you leave for America,' Josie said. Julia was a little puzzled. She had only met the old gentleman twice before and, as he usually spoke only in Hsiang, the dialect of his home in Hunan Provence, Julia had not really held a conversation with him.  
  
The old man's room was also panelled with oak and had a large bay window opening onto a balcony which was spacious enough for a small wrought iron table and chairs where he could sit on warm days with a cup of herbal tea and his Chinese-language newspapers. Three sticks of sandalwood incense burned in a carved ivory tube on a small altar to the left of the door.  
  
Although he was a little deaf and slightly infirm, he was still able to read without glasses. No-one was quite certain of the most senior Mr Wu's age as records were not kept in the tiny village where he was born at least one hundred and one years ago. His sparse beard and long moustaches were so white and fine that they shone silver in the light, matching the crescent of hair left at the base of his skull which he wore long over the collar.  
  
Josephine walked over to the velvet-padded wheelchair by the window where the old man was seated, taking his lean brown hand in her own. 'Great- grandfather,' she said, bending over to speak clearly to him in his own dialect. 'Julia is here to see you.' The old man nodded and smiled. Motioning Josie to lean in closer, he grasped her arm and began speaking quietly in Hsiang while Josephine translated. 'Great-grandfather says he had a dream last night in which the Ancestors spoke to him about you.' Josie looked back at Julia, smiling wryly. Indulge the old man, she seemed to say. 'He says they want him to cast the I Ching for you before you leave for America,' Josie straightened up. 'Great-grandfather likes to do this whenever a family member has an important event or decision coming up. Do you mind?' she asked Julia.  
  
'Not at all,' Julia replied, smiling. 'I'm honoured to be considered part of the family!'  
  
Josephine stepped over to a huge black lacquered cabinet inlaid with mother- of-pearl showing scenes of ladies and courtiers among beautiful gardens of peonies and chrysanthemums overflown by elegant red-crowned Manchurian cranes. From the top drawer she retrieved a two-feet long wooden box with a hinged lid, every surface covered with carvings of auspicious symbols including highly stylised bats, phoenixes, tigers, turtles and dragons. Josie placed the box on a wheeled butler's tray-table which she moved over beside her great-grandfather, turning the wheelchair around to face towards the end of his bed. She moved the ivory incense burner onto the tray then took a pad of white bond writing paper and a tortoiseshell Mont Blanc fountain pen from one of the cabinet drawers, placing these on the tray to his right.  
  
'Julia, bring that wicker chair from the other side of the bed over here near the light,' Josie said seating herself on the foot of the bed with the tray-table between her great-grandfather and herself. Opening the box, Josephine removed a large square of red silk which she draped over the butler's tray then took out a bundle of fifty thin wooden sticks, smooth and polished with use. Also inside was a small, thick leather-bound volume, the cover embossed with a yin-yang symbol surrounded by an octagonal arrangement of eight other symbols each made up of three sets of whole and broken lines. Josephine left the book in the box.  
  
'Do you know much about the I Ching?' Josie asked.  
  
'Not really,' Julia replied. 'Fortune telling's not really my area of expertise.'  
  
'Great-grandfather has studied the I Ching for most of his life. When he was more active, people came from all sections of the Chinese community for guidance. I'll tell you about it as Great-grandfather works on the divination. It takes a while.'  
  
The old man had picked up the fifty sticks of yarrow wood in his right hand. Passing the bundle three times through the smoke of the incense sticks in a clockwise direction, he selected one which he returned to the box. He divided the remaining forty-nine sticks into two piles then, taking a small group of sticks in one hand, rapidly removed sticks from the other pile, four at a time, until a group of between one and four sticks remained. When this was accomplished he wrote down either an unbroken straight line or a broken one on the pad of paper. This was repeated five times, each line marked above the one before to produce a single 'hexagram' of six lines which formed the basis of this method of divination. Three such hexagrams were sufficient to provide the answers to any question.  
  
While they watched this process, Josephine explained to Julia some of the history and philosophy of the I Ching.  
  
'The I Ching is also known as the "Book of Change" and has been around for at least three thousand years. Confucius worked on expanding the commentaries found in the original texts which were ancient even in his day. The texts predate almost all known organised religions including Buddhism, Taoism and Christianity and are based on perhaps several thousand previous years of observation of the natural and supernatural world. In the minds of the ancients, of course,' Josie added, 'there was no boundary between the two.'  
  
'So your great-grandfather will look in the book for the meanings for each of the symbols?' asked Julia.  
  
'Usually that is what's done but great-grandfather has practised the I Ching for more than eighty years and doesn't rely on the book. Intuition is always a major aspect of the process. Knowing the basic meanings of each hexagram is just the beginning.'  
  
'It seems to depend heavily on the psychic ability or at least the common sense of the diviner,' Julia remarked.  
  
'Pretty much. The philosophy behind the method is that although Man perceives the Infinite through change and the passage of time, the Higher Self, that part of us which transcends time and space and which reaches into the Infinite Always, is accessible through meditation and contemplation and understands that all things are governed by cycles and the laws of cause and effect. Perfect understanding of these cycles and trends, along with a knowledge of what has already passed, allows the Adept to anticipate future events with remarkable accuracy.'  
  
'So, if you have enough information about the past and the present, and understand the patterns and cycles they form, you can accurately predict the future?'  
  
'Exactly. You know about Fractal Theory?'  
  
'Yes. Even random factors eventually form patterns of some kind. But what about free will? How does self-determination fit in?'  
  
'Great-grandfather says that while a sailor cannot control the winds and currents he can use these forces to reach his goals by suiting his actions to the prevailing conditions. That's really what the I Ching is really all about - understanding the present situation and working with it instead of against it. We still have the free will to choose our own course of action.'  
  
'It sounds like you really believe in this,' Julia said.  
  
'I've never know the I Ching to give a false answer,' Josie replied. 'Sometimes you don't get the answer you expect. Sometimes you don't even get the answer to the question you've asked, but you always get the answer you need.'  
  
The hexagrams were completed and the elderly Mr Wu jotted down notes in tiny Chinese calligraphy on the white notepaper. After studying the results in silence for a few minutes, he looked at Julia and began to speak. Josephine translated.  
  
'Great-grandfather has cast six hexagrams. The first three will give an insight into your current situation, the prevailing conditions, so to speak, while the second set will suggest a future course of action.'  
  
The old man pointed to the first hexagram - two sets of three lines, each an unbroken line with a broken line above and below which Josephine called 'K'an', or 'The Abyss'. According to the elderly Mr Wu this symbolised great danger.  
  
'Power flows through the depths,' Josie translated. 'Spilling out but never decreasing. Bound with black ropes, the evil one is imprisoned within. To overcome evil a warrior must maintain a strong hold on his mind and will. By understanding when to yield and when to remain steadfast, the warrior will ensure that the evil one will fail to obtain what he seeks.'  
  
The second hexagram, Ming I, was composed of three broken lines over an unbroken, broken and unbroken set. This, Josie explained, was known as 'The Darkening of the Light'.  
  
'Beneath the earth, all light is extinguished. A man with a troubled soul will fix his resolve on righteousness. The darkness has caused him to lower his wings; having once climbed to heaven he is now descended to the earth. An ally will perceive his darkened heart and bring light to the darkness.'  
  
Josie cast a worried glance at Julia, who had been silent thus far. 'Is this making any sense to you?' Josie asked, a little concerned at Julia's grim expression. References to the abyss had struck Julia as a little too close to a description of the Hellmouth and she was somewhat shaken. The second symbol seemed to make no sense at all.  
  
'I'm not sure,' she said. 'Please go on, though. I'd like to hear the rest.'  
  
Josephine turned back to her great-grandfather, who continued on to explain the next symbol. Two sets of an unbroken line over a broken one atop two unbroken lines formed 'K'uei' or 'The Estranged One'. Julia visibly blanched at the chillingly familiar description that followed.  
  
'The leader of an ancient clan bites through flesh. Who can prevent him from proceeding with his plans? A warrior wanders, estranged and alone, and encounters many demons.'  
  
Julia's hands were shaking now. 'The Slayer!' she whispered. Josephine moved to sit beside her on the end of the bed. The old man stared steadily at Julia and nodded slightly.  
  
'Are you OK?' Josephine asked.  
  
'I'm fine. Let's finish this.'  
  
'Ok, then,' Josie continued. 'The final three hexagrams will either recommend the best way to proceed or give an insight into the near future.'  
  
The next hexagram was 'T'ung', or 'The Brotherhood'.  
  
'Two will cross the sea to gain an advantage. It will prove beneficial to consult the wisdom of the Ancients. When earthly and celestial forces are in accord, the weak can overcome the strong. The chosen one, whose weapons have been concealed, will come to prominence. Although in the company of allies, the chosen one will walk alone. One will fall from heaven. Another, thought weak, will come to wield great power.'  
  
The fifth symbol, 'Sun', represented 'Willing Submission and Penetration'.  
  
'Youth must submit to instruction by a great man who has knowledge of the interpretation of omens. Through self-sacrifice one will gain the advantage. Together, the allies will suffer defeats and celebrate victories. Though disturbed by cries in the night, those armed and prepared will know no fear. Persistence in the righteous path will bring success.'  
  
The final hexagram, to Julia's mind, left no room for misunderstanding. 'Kuei Mei' - 'The Maiden'.  
  
'One has remained undisciplined beyond the proper time. Being chosen, one wields weapons of fire and wood but draws no blood.'  
  
Josephine spoke to the old man again, seeming confused, then turned to Julia. 'I'm sorry. I've never known great-grandfather's divinations to be so obscure. I really do feel I've wasted your time.'  
  
'Not at all,' Julia responded. 'I guess time will tell how accurate he is.' She smiled uncertainly. 'It's certainly given me plenty to think about.'  
  
But the old man wasn't finished yet. He reached out to grasp his great- granddaughter's sleeve and spoke to her again. Josie nodded then went back to the lacquered cabinet. Searching inside for a few moments, she pressed a panel at the back of one of the deep drawers. The section slid back to reveal a small gap between the back of the drawer and the rear of the cabinet, a concealed space which contained another hinged box, undecorated except for the Chinese characters, 'she-ya chi', painted on the lid. Carrying the wooden box back to her great-grandfather, Josie opened the brass clasp and lifted the lid. From its place within the red brocade padded interior the elderly Mr Wu withdrew a magnificent dagger.  
  
The old man, who thus far had spoken only in his native Hsiang, turned to Julia, holding out the dagger to her and declared in perfect Mandarin 'The Serpent's Tooth will keep you safe.'  
  
Julia felt a small shock as she grasped the hilt of the knife. The antique weapon was made of ash wood and silver; the white metal hot and tingling in her hand. The dagger had the figure of a snake curved around the hilt, every scale visible, with the open-mouthed head forming the top of the hilt. The snake's mouth gaped wide, its fangs and forked tongue clasping a circular yin-yang symbol of onyx and alabaster. It had a strange rounded blade with long, sharp silver tip, double-edged, with darkened ancient ash wood set inside the blade itself.  
  
'Venerable one,' Julia said respectfully in her halting Mandarin, 'this is a valuable antique! Surely it should remain here, with your family.'  
  
'You are to have it; the Ancestors have spoken,' the old man replied, placing both of his gnarled hands on Julia's. 'In my dream I saw a darkness surrounding you, but you must not fear it. This darkness is not the absence of light. The blackness holds the light within itself and the light will be there when it is needed. Remember, light cannot be understood or appreciated without the darkness.'  
  
*****  
  
Part Three: Arrivals.  
  
'Poppy! Poppy! Get away from there!' Helen stopped jogging along the dirt track which wound through the woodlands on the outskirts of Sunnydale. She jogged in place for a few moments then leaned over with her hands on her thighs, taking a few deep breaths, letting her heart-beat slow. Helen stood up, wiping the sweat from her forehead and upper lip with the back of her hand. 'Damn dog!' she gasped, trotting over to the thick clump of shoulder- high bushes beside the track where Poppy the wire-haired fox terrier snuffled and whined excitedly.  
  
As Helen approached she could see Poppy was tugging at something in the undergrowth, growling slightly. 'Poppy, leave it!' she called sharply, walking onto the grass verge where the dog was pawing frantically at something. Not another dead squirrel! she thought. Damn dog'll need another bath by the time we get home! She reached down, grabbing Poppy's blue leather collar. She could feel the little dog trembling all over. Poppy jumped up against his owner's leg leaving dirty brown streaks on her grey track pants then dove back into the bushes.  
  
Helen reached down to clear away a handful of the twiggy branches at ground level. Poppy was pulling at a white object but stepped back as Helen leaned forward, wagging his small tail stiffly and looking expectantly at his owner. The white object was a running shoe with a blue v-shaped stripe along the side. The laces were still tied. Helen stood up and touched the shoe with her own runner. It felt heavy and wouldn't budge. She leaned forward over the top of the bushes, parting the dense top branches.  
  
The face that stared up at Helen was sickly white, its glassy blue eyes sunken and gummy. The corpse lay on one side, its back bent so that the head and hips almost touched. One leg stuck out through the bushes, the other bent backwards towards the head. Dried blood, thick and still glistening in places, covered the front of the yellow tee-shirt the dead girl wore and plastered her blonde hair across her torn throat. Drops of blood reached as far as the knees of her faded blue jeans.  
  
Helen staggered back, tripping over Poppy and started to scream.  
  
*****  
  
The Medical Examiner pulled back the white sheet, allowing Detective Sergeant Robert Orme to view the corpse beneath. Orme had been called back into work early from his annual leave to investigate a spate of unusual murders over the past few days and was not in a very congenial mood.  
  
'You say the cause of death is the same as the other one brought in at the same time?' Orme nodded over his shoulder towards another stainless steel table on which a similarly covered body lay.  
  
Gene Williams, Sunnydale's overworked M.E., confirmed this was so. 'Both men were drained of approximately a third of their blood volume then suffered a fatal fracture of the fifth cervical vertebrae which was the actual cause of death.'  
  
'They're both pretty hefty guys,' Orme said. 'It'd take quite a bit to overpower either of them sufficiently to cut their throats and break their necks. Any signs that it may have been multiple assailants?'  
  
Williams hesitated. 'First of all, the throat wasn't cut. There were a couple of ragged punctures along the jugular of each victim. It looks like something sharp was repeatedly jabbed into the neck.' He paused again. 'Then there are the bite marks.' Williams took hold of the buzz-cut head of the nearest corpse, turning the slack face towards Orme to expose the imprints of a full upper and lower set of human teeth around the site of the wounds. 'The position of the bruises on the neck and the type of neck fracture, it seems the attacker stood behind the victim while the blood was drained, then twisted the jaw to the right until the vertebrae snapped. There are no other bruises or abrasions to indicate a struggle.'  
  
'Hard to imagine these two staying still for that.' Orme moved over for a closer look at the second body. Both were big men, tattooed, with short- cropped hair and long untrimmed beards. Indentations on the bridge of the nose, ears and lips of one of the corpses indicated multiple body piercings. The jewellery and clothes they'd been found in had been sent off to the Forensic lab for analysis. 'Is it possible they were kneeling or already on the ground when it happened?'  
  
'The blood spray on their clothes indicates they were upright while the blood was drained,' Williams said. 'Whoever killed them also had to lift the bodies at least shoulder high to hoist them into the dumpster where they were found this morning.'  
  
Orme checked his notebook 'This was in the alley out back of a deserted brickworks on the north side of town?' Williams nodded, Orme continued. 'The last place both men were seen was at The Cage, a biker's bar outside of town a couple of miles from the brickworks. Anything else I should know?'  
  
'The taller guy had his boots removed. Apparently they were brand new. We haven't found them yet. Or either of the motorcycles.'  
  
'Anything missing from the other victims?'  
  
'Yes. The teenage girl, the one killed a couple of nights ago on the way home from a study date,' Williams said. 'Her school uniform's missing.'  
  
'Was she attending Sunnydale High? I didn't think they had a uniform.'  
  
'No, one of the private schools.'  
  
The double doors leading into the examination room swung open. Orme's partner, Detective Lester, stuck his head through. 'Sarge, you'd better finish up here. They've just found another one.'  
  
*****  
  
Detectives Orme and Lester arrived in time to see the body being cut down. The local ambulance and several police vehicles were parked haphazardly along the road and shoulder near the intersection of Vale and Canning Roads. A dark blue late model sedan had hit a large oak tree just off Vale Road, not doing too much damage to the car and very obviously not causing the death of the male driver whose body was being lowered onto the ground by the rope from which it had been suspended by the ankles from a large lower limb of the tree. Orme called out to the officer in charge. 'Steve, lets get a look at the body before they haul it away.'  
  
Taking a pair of thin latex gloves out of his back pocket Orme knelt by the body which had been placed on a plastic sheet on the ground beside the sedan. A nasty but not fatal-looking contusion showed on the man's forehead. It was bruised but the small cut across the swelling was minimal. Using just his fingertips, Orme tilted the jaw towards himself. A pair of ragged puncture wounds was visible along the jugular. Blood had sprayed down across the man's throat and collar, which he wore open and tie-less, and down the left shoulder of his suit coat. A thicker trail of blood ran from the throat wounds down his left cheek, plastering his hair to his scalp and had dripped down to form a pool under the tree from which the body had been hung.  
  
'Who found this one?' Orme called over his shoulder. Officer Steve Barrett indicated a battered four-by-four parked just outside the police cordon. A man of about fifty, dressed in overalls, stood beside it, smoking a thin hand-rolled cigarette.  
  
'Get his statement yet?' asked Orme.  
  
'Yeah. He has a farm not far from here,' said Barrett. 'Was on his way into town just after sunrise when he came across the scene.'  
  
'He didn't touch anything?'  
  
'Nope. One look at the guy and he took off. Rang it in from the emergency phone about a mile down the road from here.'  
  
'OK,' Orme rose stiffly, brushing soil and dry leaf litter from the knees of his pants and snapping off the latex gloves. 'Let him go. Bring the body in and let Forensics have the site to themselves.'  
  
*****  
  
The warm sun bathed Julia's face as she stood looking out across the Pacific Ocean. She closed her eyes, feeling a light breeze ruffle the white cotton shift she wore, her bare feet feeling the sand beneath cooling now as the sun went down over Santa Monica Beach. Her brother's beach house gleamed behind her, up past the dunes, its thick glass walls reflecting the lowering sun, a golden tribute to its slow dive into the sea.  
  
Julia had walked the sands each morning and evening of the two days she'd been in Los Angeles, the milder rays of dawn and dusk less irritating to her skin. By the second day her jetlag had subsided and Julia had spent some time just enjoying the sea breezes and dozing on the wooden deck, listening to the slow susurrations of the waves as they flowed in to whisper watery secrets to the yellow sands.  
  
Even now, with the sun almost gone, her skin constantly tingled from its electric touch. It was a minor but distracting by-product of what she had come to think of as her 'accident'. Almost four years had passed since that night in the abandoned tenement building in Toronto but still she found the physiological changes disturbing. Strong sunlight felt like the ripples of an electrical charge crawling over her exposed flesh and she had taken to wearing sunglasses whenever she ventured out of doors. Other changes were less troublesome. Her muscular strength and speed were vastly increased; her night vision and other senses were heightened. Even her singing voice, which had been pleasant enough before, was improved, now strong and clear as her control over her breathing became absolute.  
  
The next day she would attend to a few necessary chores, including finding a new left-hand drive car, before heading off. Julia took a final deep breath, savouring the tang of the salty air, then trudged up the dunes again to finish reading the reports Giles was already emailing her from Sunnydale.  
  
*****  
  
The interior of The Cage seemed to be in a permanent twilight which suited the clientele, mostly bikers and a few hardy locals. The appearance of Orme and Lester caused the noise level to drop to a menacing murmur as most eyes turned towards them. As they walked up to the bar the conversations and heated discussions around them slowly returned to their usual intensity. The barman, well over six feet tall and built like a wrestler gone to seed, sported a red waist-length beard and clean-shaven head decorated with a black tribal-style tattoo which extended from the base of the neck almost to the bridge of his nose. He slowly wiped the counter top with a beer- soaked rag that left the surface neither drier nor cleaner. As Detective Sergeant Orme took a seat at the main bar, a couple of bikers wearing the colours of a local gang took their drinks and moved to a table a few feet away.  
  
'Martin Nagel?' Orme inquired, flipping open his police I.D. The barman nodded.  
  
'They call me Nails.'  
  
'OK, Nails. I'm Detective Sergeant Orme and this is Detective Lester of the Sunnydale P.D. You hear about the two bodies found out back of the old brickworks yesterday morning?'  
  
'Yep.'  
  
'What'd you hear?'  
  
'Heard they was wearin' biker colours.'  
  
'That's right,' Orme said. 'Their jackets were from a club called the Saracens. Any of the members ever drink here?'  
  
'Sometimes have a brother or two in here when they're ridin' through.'  
  
Lester leaned across the bar, placing a couple of photographs on the counter. 'Recognise either of these men?' Nails stared hard at the photos which had been taken in the morgue earlier that day.  
  
'Yep. Were both in here night before last.'  
  
'Names?' prompted Orme.  
  
'Red-beard was Pig Dog,' Nails leaned forward, grinning a nasty gap-toothed smile. 'Prettier one called his-self Roadkill.'  
  
'How about their real names?' Lester suggested.  
  
'Wouldn't know.' Nails slid the photographs back across the greasy counter.  
  
'Were they regulars here?' prompted Orme.  
  
'Not what I'd call regulars. Come in with the club whenever they did a run to L.A. Used to come in on their own every few weeks or so.'  
  
'They have trouble with anyone here that night?'  
  
'Nope, but they did leave here with a couple of strangers.'  
  
'What did these two strangers look like?' Orme asked.  
  
'One was a big guy, mean-lookin'. Dressed like a biker but not wearin' colours. The other was a girl. Pretty little blonde thing.'  
  
'Did you happen to get their names?'  
  
'Big guy was called Luke, I think. He never said the girl's name; just called her Darlin'. Not that he spoke much. She did most of the talkin'.'  
  
'What did they talk about?'  
  
'Didn't hear much o' the details but you might like to ask those guys.' Nails indicated the two bikers who had vacated the bar area when Orme and Lester arrived. 'They was sittin' with the Saracens til the other two arrived.'  
  
Lester and Orme nodded thanks to the barman and approached the two bikers. They sported the same colours - a grinning skull under a black top-hat indicating allegiance with a local club called the Gravediggers. The two 'Diggers' didn't have a lot to add. They said that Luke and the girl offered the Saracens some kind of drug deal - something that would give them a rush like they'd never experienced before. The bikers assumed they'd left together do a deal, Luke and the woman riding pillion on the Saracens two Harley Davidson motorcycles.  
  
*****  
  
Darla squealed with delight, the wind whipping through her long blonde hair. She held tight to Luke as the stolen Harley Davidson leaned into a corner dangerously fast. Screeching to a halt at the Sunnydale Cemetery, Luke pulled the bike upright, kicking the stand into place, his new boots gleaming in the moonlight. He and Darla dismounted and walked towards a large mausoleum.  
  
Luke chuckled darkly. 'So what happened with you and the travelling salesman?'  
  
Darla glared at Luke. 'Hitch-hiking!' she snapped. 'That was your stupid idea!'  
  
Luke sniggered, hauling open the door to the marble edifice. 'So you didn't bring anything back for The Master! Again!' Inside the tomb he lifted up the heavy slab covering the entrance to the tunnels below. Stepping back, he bowed mockingly, allowing Darla to precede him down into the darkness. 'He won't be very pleased!'  
  
'It couldn't be helped,' Darla snapped. 'I had to eat him there!' She sniffed. 'No more middle-aged men for me! He had a damned heart attack! And crashed the car! I had to drag him out and string him up to drain him!' Luke looked at her, puzzled. 'No blood pressure!' Darla explained. 'I used the tow-rope from the trunk.'  
  
*****  
  
Detective Sergeant Orme had a headache that wouldn't quit. It had started on his return to Sunnydale a couple of days before and hadn't let up since. Four bodies in three days! Not to mention several missing persons reports in the past week, all young males from the local high school and college. Now the forensics reports had started coming in and they didn't make a damned bit of sense!  
  
'Lester!' he stood up and yelled to his partner who at that moment was walking past the office. 'What the hell shit goes on here!'  
  
'What do you mean, Sarge?' answered Lester, poking his head around the door.  
  
Orme strode over to him, waving a sheaf of reports in the younger man's face. 'Have you read this?' he demanded. 'Someone's stuffed up in Records. These fingerprint results are all fucked up!'  
  
Lester shook his head. 'I've had them checked. I rang through myself when the report came in. It's the damndest thing, that's for sure.' He walked into Orme's office and pulled a chair up in front of the desk as Orme resumed his own seat.  
  
One of the motorcycles had been recovered the day after the murders from an alley near the brickworks where the bikers' bodies had been discovered, while the other Harley was found dumped the following morning at the Sunnydale Cemetery. Two sets of fingerprints had been lifted from the second bike and run through the California State database.  
  
The first set came back almost immediately. Luke Bryant was a known offender in the state, having served time on several minor charges from auto theft to assault. The only problem was, Luke Bryant was listed as deceased, having turned up in the Orange County morgue almost two years ago. Stranger still was the Coroner's report which described a cause of death not dissimilar to the ones they were now investigating. Detective Lester had wasted no time in confirming the information and had contacted the Orange County Coroner's office earlier that day. By chance, the attending medical examiner on that case was available to take the call and remembered the circumstances well. As Lester explained to Orme, there was a good reason why the case had stuck in his mind.  
  
'The M.E. working on Bryant says the body disappeared from the morgue before a full autopsy could be performed,' Lester told Orme. 'The night Bryant came in an unidentified woman tried to claim the body. Said she was from the undertakers but had no paperwork. She was told the body couldn't be released and never came back,' Lester paused. 'Well, not that they know of. Anyhow, the Coroner's Office was pretty busy, so they didn't get to Bryant til a couple of days later. When they opened up the drawer, he was gone.'  
  
'What about the other set of prints?'  
  
'Well, this is even weirder, if that's possible. The second set from the Harley match the prints found in the car belonging to the hanged motorist,' said Lester. 'They're probably female. A hitch-hiker most likely.'  
  
'That's not so surprising is it? Given the similarities in the M.O.s,' Orme said. 'We already guessed it's the same perps.'  
  
'No,' continued Lester. 'But the really bizarre thing is they also match old crime scene records from Westminster where a number of college boys disappeared, some found dead several weeks later - freshly dead - with cause of death same as the victims here,' Lister paused. 'Only problem is, this all happened over thirty years ago.'  
  
Orme ran his hand through his hair, taking in the unexpected information. 'So we're looking for a fifty year old homicidal broad who's strong enough to hoist a 220 lb man into a tree and a dead guy who likes to ride Harleys? Is that what you're telling me?'  
  
'I'm just telling you what the records search turned up,' Lester answered. 'What do you make of it? You think any of this is possible? Or do you think someone's fiddled the evidence?'  
  
'When we catch 'em,' Orme replied darkly, 'we'll ask 'em!'  
  
*****  
  
In the library of Sunnydale High, Rupert Giles and Julia Devereaux sat reading police reports on the recent spate of murders and missing persons that had been forwarded to them via the Council of Watchers' contact inside the State Police Department.  
  
Putting down the file she was reading Julia look across the table at Giles who was nervously cleaning his glasses, yet again. 'Giles,' she said, 'we have to start patrolling now. We can't wait any longer.'  
  
'The Slayer will be here any day now, I'm sure,' he replied. 'We really should wait.' Giles had already expressed concern that the Summers girl had not yet arrived in Sunnydale. Arrangements had been made for her transfer from Hemery High in Los Angeles to the smaller provincial school in Sunnydale, while a job at a local gallery had been organised for her mother.  
  
'Rupert, people are dying while we sit here doing nothing. The least we can do is investigate some of the likely sites where this vampire group might have their lair. Then we'll be ready for what ever action needs to be taken when she gets here.'  
  
'It's too dangerous,' Giles replied. 'We're just not equipped for this.'  
  
'Well, I'm going to take a look around tonight,' Julia said firmly. 'If I see any vampire activity I'll run the other way. OK?' Giles didn't look convinced. 'I promise!'  
  
*****  
  
Angel ran down the deserted passage towards the unmistakable sounds of fighting, scattering pages of torn newspapers and the contents of a burst garbage bag as he slid to a halt at the end of the filthy alleyway. Stopping at the corner of one of the red brick buildings flanking the alley he looked out into the moonlit arena formed by the abandoned buildings surrounding a derelict playground, taking in the scene in front of him.  
  
A dark-haired young woman was being pursued across the grassless park by two vampires. Dodging between broken swings and gym sets, she leaped up onto a see-saw, running along the plank as one of the vamps kept pace alongside. She stopped in the centre, balancing the old wooden plank on its axis. The closest vampire ran to one end of the see-saw, the second taking up position at the other end. As Angel stepped out of the shadows, he saw the woman turn and run down the plank towards the vampire to her right. Taking advantage of the momentum, she drove a long silver knife into its chest, not even slowing her pace as the undead attacker exploded in a cascade of dust. Momentarily surprised, the other vamp stared after her for several seconds, giving voice to an angry roar before taking off after her again.  
  
Angel, equally astonished, withdrew into the darkness of the alley. This woman could obviously hold her own and he was interested to see if she could dispatch the second assailant.  
  
Julia ran to an open area not far from the alleyway and turned to face the on-coming vampire. She crouched slightly as the vamp approached, holding the Serpent's Tooth dagger well in front of her body in a defensive posture. As the enraged creature lunged at her she sidestepped quickly, ducking low to trip the vampire as it ran past. As it fell to the ground she dove on top of it and, with both hands grasping the hilt, rammed the silver and ash wood blade deep into its heart.  
  
Dust from the second vampire swirled around her like a tiny whirlwind, spreading out in a circle around her with the force of the molecular disintegration. Breathing heavily, Julia pulled the dagger out of the compacted dirt where the force of her thrust had plunged it several inches into the soil.  
  
Still down on one knee, she became aware of another presence nearby. At the sound of a slight movement from the alley between the abandoned tenements across the road she became instantly alert once more.  
  
Who the hell is she? Angel wondered. Not the Slayer, that's for sure. Angel had already seen the Chosen One when Whistler took him to observe her at her old school in L.A. and this tall brunette certainly wasn't her. As she stood up and began walking towards the alley Angel started to move forward, then stopped. Realising that it was too soon to reveal that he was here in Sunnydale, Angel retreated back into the shadows, his right hand gripping the rough brick corner of the building as he flattened himself against the alley wall.  
  
Julia could just make out a dark figure, someone tall, probably young, as the form faded away into the blackness. As a pale hand disappeared from view she caught sight of something shining in the moonlight - a silver or white gold ring with a raised design of hands clasped around something that she couldn't quite distinguish - but seemed vaguely familiar.  
  
She began to run, racing down the shadowy alley, avoiding spilled garbage cans and empty cardboard boxes in an effort to get another look at the anonymous spectator. The long alley spilled out onto a quiet suburban street. Julia glanced around quickly, catching a momentary glimpse of the young man, his coat swirling out behind him as he walked through the light of a streetlamp already several blocks away.  
  
*****  
  
Back at boarding house, Julia stepped out of a long hot shower, pulled on a towelling robe and wrapped a thick towel around her wet hair. Her right hand was still sported a red burn-like welt from its contact with the hilt of the silver dagger.  
  
Walking into the combined bed-sitting room she picked up her diary and a pen from the bedside table then flopped down into a deep tapestry- upholstered armchair, putting her feet up on the matching ottoman. Her entry was, as usual, undated.  
  
'God, I've only been in Sunnydale a week and already I'm washing the grave-dust out of my hair! This isn't how it was supposed to be!'  
  
Julia paused for a moment, reflecting on the events of the evening. She felt sickened, nauseated at the recollection of her first kills as the reality of the situation began to sink in. One of the dead vampires had, until a few days ago, been a student at Sunnydale High; his picture had appeared in the local newspaper the previous weekend. Just a kid really, who hadn't asked for any of this to happen to him. This isn't why I'm here! she thought unhappily. I'm a researcher, not a killer!  
  
'Someone saw the whole thing tonight, I'm sure. A man, watching from the shadows, who didn't want to be seen. Is he working with them? Watching them too, maybe? If he's a vampire-hunter, why didn't he make his presence known? If he's with them, why didn't he attack too? Perhaps he was just a passer-by after all and got spooked by what he saw?'  
  
Somehow, this last possibility seemed the least likely.  
  
'Maybe Giles will have some thoughts on the matter. With any luck things will quiet down once the Slayer gets here. God, I hope Buffy gets here soon!'  
  
***** Finis *****  
  
Author's note: 'I Ching' is pronounced 'Yee Jing' and is an ancient Chinese form of divination which is almost too complex to attempt an explanation. The hexagrams mentioned all exist, as do the descriptions I've used (some slightly altered), but I've mixed them up to relate them more closely to the story line. The description of the decline of the Mayans is also reasonably accurate (except for the demons, of course! Well, that we know of!) 


End file.
